1992, Minnesota, Superior National Forest
Home of the North East Atlantic Pack
As the hours waned into early evening, locals flowed into Jimmy's Bar, an establishment found in the centre of a quiet town, nestled deep within the forest. To the mundane, the town was hidden behind powerful magical wards and spellwork, only ever found by those who already knew where it was. As a result, the inhabitants of this town were nothing more than ghosts to the outside world, safe in their sanctuary that had stood for centuries. A jovial atmosphere rose as patrons of Jimmy's settled into their seats and ordered their usual drinks, laughing with friends and family alike. Cigarette smoke curled up into the air, mixing with the scent of alcohol and old oak, the walls as old as the town itself.
A lone individual stepped through the door, scanning the expanse of leather booths and tables filled with pack members, the warm glow of hanging pendant lights illuminating their faces. Slowly, he made his way over to the bar, ignoring the way the chatter died as smiles slid off faces, backs straightening with tension, the patrons of Jimmy's growing highly aware of the stranger walking in their midst. His footsteps echoed loudly on the scuffed wood flooring in the sudden silence, over two dozen eyes following his every move.
Klaus smiled as he stopped and leant against the bar, quite obviously catching the female bartender's eye. "Bourbon, neat, please love."
The woman didn't move, her stocky character and weathered features making Klaus acutely aware that she wasn't one easily cowed. She exchanged a glance with a middle-aged man sitting at the bar a few stools away from Klaus, clearly unsure how to react.
Klaus' grin widened. "I promise I won't bite."
Narrowing her eyes, the woman walked over to Klaus and poured his drink, the bar eerily silent. The large man sitting at the bar turned in his seat, eyes on Klaus, clearly cautious about turning his back on the vampire. At the other end of the room, a group of young men stood frozen around the pool table, their game paused. One, clad in a red plaid shirt and jeans, finished his turn, the sound of pool balls clashing together as his cue hit true, the only thing breaking the silence.
"Thanks, love." He said as the woman stepped back without a word, taking the bottle with her. Klaus, smothering his smile, brought the glass to his lips and sipped the aged spirit. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the young man at the pool table straighten, handing his cue over to a friend before heading towards Klaus. Pretending not to notice, he let his eyes flick across the hangings on the wall behind the bar. There was a black symbol painted into the panelling - three crescent moons positioned back to back like a triangle, over a circle - and old photographs. Some were even pre-1900s and immediately caught his eye, Klaus recognising one individual captured in the photographs more than once.
"Established in 1864." Klaus read aloud, focused on a photograph showing the bar's opening day, the familiar figure standing in the centre. "Quite the achievement, that, to be open that long." He toasted to the bartender.
"It's also none of your business." The young man declared, finally arriving at the bar and leaning forward into Klaus' space, cutting his sightline of the photograph off. Before Klaus could stop him, he had taken the glass out of his hand and slid it across the bar, another brawny male catching it and drinking the contents. The young man smiled, all teeth. "Mind telling me how you got so lost, my friend?"
Klaus leant backwards only to knock into another man standing behind him. He was surrounded. Wonderful.
Klaus raised an eyebrow. "Friends, already? I wasn't aware we'd even met."
The man's eyes flashed yellow, lips curling into a snarl. "Don't play games with us, vampire. I could smell your stench the minute you walked through that door. Now tell us how you're here."
"I was invited."
The werewolf laughed. "You expect us to believe that? A daywalker invited into the wolf's den?"
Klaus smiled, his lips stretched so tight it was almost painful. "I'm looking for Lycaon. Perhaps you've heard of him."
The grin slid off the werewolf's face, his gaze glacial. "Can't say I have." He said. Without breaking from Klaus' gaze, he directed his next words at one of the other men. "Hey Lance, you heard of this Lycaon living in these parts?"
Lance, who had been the man who had downed Klaus' drink, crossed his arms over his chest, leaning onto the bar. "Not that I know of. And I know everybody."
The young man made a noise of agreement. His eyes never left Klaus. "There you have it. Maybe try somewhere else."
"Perhaps your friend is mistaken." Klaus said with thinly veiled malice, making the young man in front of him back up, away from the bar, as he stalked closer. "Because I swear that I saw him in those pictures on the wall." He pointed to said pictures, which only seemed to raise the hackles on the pack members even more. With good reason too, since the pictures were over a hundred years old.
"Like I said," the young man ground out, standing so close to Klaus they were nose to nose, "doesn't ring a bell. You should leave."
Klaus looked down, chuckling softly. When he raised his head, his expression had hardened, his eyes bleeding red. "I don't think so."
For a second, the bar seemed to hold its breath. Then the pack member behind Klaus lunged, wrapping his arms around the vampire's neck, intending to snap it. At the same time, the other man in front of him moved to strike, but Klaus was quicker, and jumped, raising his feet to kick the werewolf back. The force of the kick sent Klaus and the werewolf holding him tumbling backwards, falling right onto an occupied table. The wood splintered and collapsed under their weight, glasses smashing as patrons abandoned their drinks and leaped out of the way.
Chaos ensued - werewolves all across the bar rose to their feet, some moving to enter the fray, the bartender even ducking under the bar to grab the concealed shotgun. Klaus drove his elbows into the werewolf under him, breaking ribs with the force of his vampiric strength, before rolling to grab a piece of splintered wood, driving it through the werewolf's shoulder and the floor beneath him, effectively pinning him to the ground. He screamed as Klaus flashed to his feet, barely having time to brace despite his supernatural speed as two more werewolves tackled him, all three of them slamming into the floor in a mess of sprawled limbs and powerful fists. It surprised Klaus, how strong they were, certainly a match for any hundred-year-old or so vampire. Werewolves only wielded that much power during a full moon in their wolf forms. The shock knocked him off guard long enough for the werewolves to get a few critical punches in, whipping his head to the side and breaking his lip in the process. Rage soon engulfed his thoughts, flooding his features as he turned his head back to glare at his opponents, his lip healing. Then his fangs dropped.
He grabbed one by the hair, pulling him forwards so he could sink his teeth into his neck. When the other tried to shake him off, he flashed to his feet, throwing both werewolves through the air and crashing into tables and chairs. The werewolf Klaus had kicked to the floor earlier, the one in the red plaid, came up behind him, snapping a pool cue on his knee and thrusting it into Klaus' back.
He roared in pain, the splintered, bloodied end of the cue sticking out of his chest. His attacker staggered backwards, perhaps believing Klaus would desicate, but Klaus was no normal vampire. He was an Original - and no normal wood could kill him. Snarling, he yanked the jagged piece out, turning around to face the horrified werewolf.
"I'm curious, after killing me, what do you intend to do next?" Klaus taunted, waving the bloodied stake around as he spoke, before throwing it aside.
Eyes flashed yellow in anger. Klaus hissed in response, his fangs sharp. With a battle cry, the two rushed forward to tear each other apart-
A shot rang through the bar, hitting the floor between the werewolf and vampire, making them flinch apart.
"ENOUGH!" A voice roared.
Klaus froze, slowly turning around.
Stood next to the bar, the bartender's shotgun in hand, was Lycaon. His blond hair was cut short, curling slightly like Klaus' own, eyes positively enraged at the scene he had seemingly stumbled upon, possibly alerted by the sheer noise the fight had caused.
"Sir, he's a vampir-" The young werewolf Klaus had been fighting tried to explain, before abruptly being cut off.
"I know perfectly well what he is, Deacon." The Alpha werewolf ground out, gaze fixed dangerously on his son as he handed the shotgun back to the bartender.
Klaus straightened his back, swallowing nervously like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Father."
Lycaon narrowed his furious eyes, lips pulled into a thin line. "Niklaus."
Oh yes, he was so screwed.
Lycaon slammed the truck door as he got out, leaving Klaus behind in the passenger seat. Glaring at the dashboard, Klaus waited a moment before following, stepping out the blue pickup truck and taking in his surroundings. They had arrived at Lycaon's home - a cabin on the outskirts of town, obscured from the main road by thick forest. The building was an elegant construction of panelled wood and glass, old stonework supporting the main frame of the house. Lycaon had built it himself, if Klaus remembered right. It was an impressive sight to behold in the dying dusk light.
Klaus had only visited once before, back in the 1940s, before the cabin was built, back when Rebekah and Elijah's absence began to gnaw at his insides. Loneliness was a cruel housemate, and no matter how much blood he consumed or how many women he charmed to his bed, it couldn't drown out the choking sense of solitude.
He hadn't stayed long. He never did, when he visited. Although he was thankful that his blood father still lived - even more so that he didn't shun him for being a vampire - Lycaon was still a painful reminder of everything Klaus had lost all those centuries ago. The binding of his werewolf side meant he couldn't hear the wolves speak, which made every full moon more dangerous, as younger wolves didn't recognise him as one of them. Klaus knew his father tried to include him in the pack, he did, but no matter how hard Lycaon tried, Klaus was different. He was a vampire, not a wolf, and nothing would change that. Not until he broke the curse. And therefore, whatever home his father built, Klaus would never truly belong. Not as a vampire.
The headlights flashed as Lycaon locked the vehicle, catching Klaus' attention and breaking him out of his thoughts. His father moved to grab the paper grocery bags they had picked up on the way over, before striding up the drive without sparing Klaus a glance.
"Silence? Am I not a little too old for such a punishment?" Klaus shouted after him as he moved to follow.
Lycaon didn't turn around. "If you hate silence so much, Niklaus, perhaps you shouldn't have started a fight with my wolves."
"Technically, your wolves started the fight." Klaus pointed out.
Lycaon stopped outside the front door and turned his head to send his son an unimpressed glare. Klaus smiled, a perfect picture of innocence.
Lycaon turned back around and quickly opened the front door without another word, balancing both grocery bags on one arm. Klaus let his smile fall and sighed, before following his father inside.
The interior was spacious and open, and Klaus was immediately hit with the smell of pine needles and wood. To the left, a grand kitchen made of marble and metal appliances stretched out, light coloured cabinets lining the walls. To the right and beyond was a vast living space, with fur blankets and patterned rugs cloaking the room in a comfortable atmosphere as a fire glowed slightly on one side, a warm light compared to the natural daylight that cascaded into the room from the towering windows. Hand-carved sculptures littered the entire space, varying in sizes and detail. On the mantelpiece, Klaus could just make out a howling wolf, not dissimilar to the wolf Lycaon had carved for him when he was just a child. He had always wondered how much of his creative tendencies came from his blood father. The old werewolf was no good with a brush and canvas - that Klaus knew from horrifying experience - but his carvings were a treasured sight.
Lycaon walked straight to the kitchen when he entered, depositing the grocery bags on the island counter.
"I'd offer you a drink, but I'm afraid I'm out of blood bags. If you had told me you were coming I would have sent someone to the closest hospital to get some." Lycaon explained as he opened cabinets, pulling out a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine.
"It's fine. I already ate." Klaus assured, distracted, taking in the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows, the forest stretching out to the mountains from the backyard - which housed a decently sized heated pool.
"You didn't eat one of my wolves, I hope." Lycaon chastised, pausing as he opened the wine bottle.
"Not all of them." Klaus confirmed, falling back onto the beige sofas.
Lycaon glared at the back of his head from the kitchen. "That's not funny."
"It is a little." Klaus argued, twisting his neck and sending Lycaon a cheeky grin.
Lycaon shook his head. "Not that I don't enjoy your little visits over the decades, little wolf, but why exactly are you here?" Lycaon asked, walking over with the drinks, handing one to Klaus as he sat down.
"Can't I just visit my father out of the good of my heart?"
Lycaon stared, every inch of his face showing his disbelief towards that notion, leaning back into the couch as he took a sip of his wine.
Klaus sighed, looking down at the wine as his fingers danced across the glass. "Elijah is looking for me. He wants me dead."
"Is that so." Lycaon remarked dryly.
Klaus glared at him. "I needed to lay low for a while. Thought this was as good a place as any." He said, gesturing to the cabin around them.
"You better not bring Elijah right to us, Niklaus."
"I am not at fault for this - Elijah is the one hunting me down like a dog! His own brother!" Klaus raged, leaping to his feet. Lycaon stayed where he was, raising an eyebrow in disapproval from his position on the couch.
"Perhaps because you told him you dumped your siblings at the bottom of the Atlantic - a complete lie - and proceeded to threaten to do the same to him."
"Yes, well, he was being difficult." Klaus muttered, falling back onto the sofa behind him and throwing an arm over it, expression pulled into a childish pout.
"Elijah is the difficult one?" Lycaon asked incredulously.
Klaus sent him another glare in response.
Suddenly, the front door swung open, young laughter ringing through the house. Klaus turned his head around at the same time Lycaon rose to his feet, placing his drink on the side table. A dark-haired boy, around the age of eight, was at the door, half inside half out, talking animatedly with a ginger girl.
"That was so awesome! You have to teach me!"
"I know! We'll have to practice tomorrow! You're coming right?"
"Sam!" Lycaon shouted, catching the boy's attention. Beside him, Klaus mouthed the name 'Sam' in astonishment, clearly perplexed.
"Sorry, gotta go!" The boy quickly apologised, moving to grab the door as Lycaon approached. Behind him, Klaus slowly rose to his feet.
"See you tomorrow Sam!"
"Bye Jackie!" Sam hastily closed the door, running straight for the stairs in a useless effort to avoid Lycaon, and it was only then that Klaus realised the boy was barefoot, small feet caked in dirt and grime from running outside with no shoes.
"Whoa, not so fast, Sam." Lycaon grabbed the boy by the wrist before he could disappear. "What have I told you about running outside barefoot?" He asked, squatting down to the boy's height.
The young boy winced, avoiding Lycaon's eyes, clearly caught out. "To not do it?" He asked, smiling nervously.
"That's right. So why are you?"
"I forgot." Sam whined.
"Again?" Lycaon prodded.
"Jackie wouldn't wait! It's not my fault!"
Lycaon sighed, patience thinning. "Sam…"
Klaus looked on in realisation, observing the way Lycaon absent-mindedly rubbed the boy's arms with his thumbs, eyes soft and caring. Lycaon had always looked at him that way, when he was young. His appearance may have been more on the wolfish side, but it was still the same look, still the same gentleness.
Somehow, Lycaon had found another son to raise.
Klaus swallowed, looking away, trying to ignore the way his throat hurt from where a ball had materialised inside it, heart twisting. His fists clenched at his sides, trembling slightly, the rage quickly drowning out the pain.
"Who's that?" The little boy asked, leaning around Lycaon to look at Klaus. Lycaon turned, catching Klaus' closed expression, before sighing once more and rising to his feet.
"Samuel, this is Niklaus." He introduced, moving to the side so the boy could see Klaus properly.
Sam scrunched up his face, as if something bad was under his nose. "He smells funny."
Klaus narrowed his eyes. "Charming little fellow, aren't you?"
"Niklaus." Lycaon warned. "Be nice."
"What about him?" Klaus countered, aggrieved.
Lycaon sighed, turning back to face the little boy below him. "Sam, Niklaus is a vampire. I've told you about them, remember?"
The young boy frowned, eyeing Klaus warily. "You said they were dangerous."
The Alpha let his lips twitch into a small smile. "Not all of them. Niklaus won't hurt you." He reassured, sending a glance Klaus' way in warning. His son didn't look pleased at the implied order, expression darkening even further.
Sam tilted his head, bright green eyes narrowed in suspicion, as if trying to suss Klaus out. "Are you sure?"
"Positive." Lycaon stated firmly.
Klaus stared at Lycaon, surprise flickering across his face at the steadfast faith in his father's voice. The trust. How could he know he wouldn't hurt the boy? Lycaon turned slightly, as if feeling Klaus' eyes on him, and met his gaze. Slowly, the alpha werewolf smiled, a warm gentle thing, and Klaus felt his body relax slightly, some indescribable emotion igniting inside his chest.
Suddenly, his throat was awfully dry.
Distracted as he was, Klaus didn't notice when the boy's eyes flicked once again to him, before his wariness dissipated. Moving around Lycaon, Sam bravely stepped toward the vampire, holding out his hand. Klaus just stared at it, blinking uncomprehendingly, making Sam frown. "You're supposed to shake it." He declared.
"I'm aware." Klaus snapped. "We've already been introduced. There's no need." He explained, tone condescending. Hurting the boy may be out of the question - even if he had planned to hurt him, the idea of laying a hand on the boy now after Lycaon had sent him that look made Klaus feel sickly uneasy, a part of him aching at the thought of losing that trust - but that didn't mean he had to be nice.
A spark of anger ignited in the boy's eyes. "Not properly. You have to do it properly."
Behind Sam, Lycaon was standing with a hand over his mouth, eyes bright with mirth, clearly trying not to laugh. Klaus sent his father a glare over the boy's head, before reaching out and shaking the offered hand, which was dwarfed in his larger palm.
"I'm Samuel. But you can call me Sam." The boy greeted enthusiastically.
"Niklaus." Klaus introduced, not elaborating further, eyes narrowed in distrust.
It didn't deter the boy.
"Jackie's brother is called Nicolas. But everyone calls him Nick. Do people call you Nik too?" Sam asked.
"Only my siblings." Klaus answered, his tone carrying a warning.
The little boy's face fell, disappointed. Klaus would have sighed in relief at dodging the bullet, but then Lycaon opened his bloody mouth, making Klaus seriously consider the attractiveness of murder.
"Niklaus is my son, Sam. So, technically, you're his sibling too."
The boy lit up with energetic eagerness. "Really, so I can call you Nik!"
"What, no that's not-"
"It's nice to meet you Nik!"
"My name's not Ni-"
"I've never met a vampire before. Do you really feed on people's blood? And what do you look like when your fangs drop? I bet it's so cool!"
Klaus looked down at Sam in quickly mounting horror as the boy practically jumped up and down on the spot with excitement, with no fear of the thousand-year-old vampire currently standing in front of him. Klaus was so overwhelmed with shock all he could do was gape as the boy rattled on, speaking a mile a minute. This was definitely not part of the plan. What kind of child wasn't afraid of a vampire? Even Marcellus had the common sense to be wary when he first took the boy under his wing. Was this child broken?
Barely holding back laughter, Lycaon took pity on him and pulled Sam away.
"Alright, time to go clean your feet in the bathtub upstairs, before you overwhelm him with questions, you rascal." Lycaon quickly herded the little boy to the stairs and ruffled his hair, causing Sam to giggle in response, escaping Lycaon's hold and running up the steps. His gleeful laughter and small footsteps echoed throughout the house in the silence that followed.
"You did that on purpose." Klaus accused.
Lycaon chuckled, moving to the kitchen and unpacking the groceries. "I'll have to make him dinner now he's back. Do you want anything specific?" Lycaon directed at Klaus, neither denying or agreeing with him. It might as well have been a signed confession of guilt.
Saying nothing, Klaus shook his head, his eyes fixed on his father the entire time. Lycaon raised an eyebrow, picking up a knife from the rack and grabbing a chopping board, clearly intending to cut up the vegetables. Klaus walked over, leaning onto the island counter in between him and his father.
Lycaon brandished the knife and used it to point at Klaus. "Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?" His son asked innocently, though somehow managing to sound anything but innocent.
"Like you've just learnt the world is not flat all over again." Lycaon answered, keeping his eyes on the vegetables as he began to chop.
"You are raising a child." Klaus stated, slowly iterating each word, as if he couldn't quite believe it.
"Opposed to you raising a child, a feat many would never dare to conceive yet still, it actually happened."
"I didn't already have a son." Klaus muttered bitterly, forcing himself to not think of Marcellus, lost the same day he lost New Orleans.
Children… Klaus hadn't thought he'd be good with children. Even when he was human, Mikael's methods had put him so far off the thought of fatherhood he hadn't courted women as eagerly as Finn and Elijah had. He wasn't the firstborn, he didn't have to carry on Mikael's lineage, thank the gods, and so what was the point of marriage, if not to raise a family? When Finn had married, only to lose his wife in childbirth, his thoughts against the idea of settling down only solidified. When he developed affections for Tatia, only for her head to be turned by Elijah, his outlook became set in stone.
Better alone, than constantly surrounded by heartbreak.
He'd been good with his siblings though. Finn and Elijah often left on raids with Mikael, leaving him to look after their mother and the younger ones. He remembered holding Henrik in his arms as a child, rocking the babe to sleep. Remembered teaching Kol to fish in the shallows of the nearby river, spear in hand; remembered soothing Rebekah's nightmares, staying with her when the deafening lightning storms shook the foundations of their home. So, it wasn't that he was bad with children, per se - it was that children carried far too many ghosts. Their laughter echoed like Henrik and Marcel's had, young and innocent, and so, so very fragile. Not suitable company for monsters like him.
And then there was Sam. The boy his father had chosen to raise, because he was robbed of raising Niklaus. The replacement.
His replacement.
Lycaon sighed, calmly putting down the knife. "I know what you're thinking, Niklaus. Stop it."
Not realising his face was so easy to read, Klaus immediately tensed, defensive once caught off guard. "Oh really? And what pray tell, am I thinking?" He sneered.
"You're thinking about the best way to get rid of that boy that ensures I don't get mad at you." Lycaon pointed out, causing Klaus's jaw to clench angrily, avoiding his father's gaze. Lycaon narrowed his eyes. "Now you're mad at me for pointing that out and are contemplating the pros and cons of snapping that child's neck just to spite me." He concluded, earning an icy glare from his son.
"What happened to the belief I would never hurt him?"
"You still won't." Lycaon declared, steadfast in his faith. "You may think it, and then you'll hate yourself for it, because despite your insistence on convincing the world you're the route of all evil, I very much doubt you've ever harmed a child. You're not him."
Their eyes met, and Klaus couldn't find the will to look away this time. He knew what Lycaon meant.
You're not Mikael.
Lycaon's features softened, the tension in his shoulders deflating. "But all that is irrelevant, because the true problem is you're thinking that little boy up there is your replacement." He finished, voice softer.
Klaus' voice was small when he finally spoke. "Is he?"
"You really think I could ever replace you?" Lycaon questioned, eyes sad.
Klaus scoffed, hiding his obvious hurt with anger. "You seem to be doing pretty well without me, from what I've seen." He muttered, taking a swig of his drink.
"Niklaus, look at me." Lycaon demanded, expression hardening. Klaus refused, defiantly staring down at a random spot on the counter. " Niklaus. " Lycaon said, tone harder.
Slowly, Klaus raised his gaze, hesitant.
"You're my little wolf. Always will be. I'm afraid you're stuck with me for the rest of eternity." Lycaon declared, sincere, a warm smile curling the corners of his lips.
After a moment, Klaus nervously returned it.
"So," Lycaon began, returning to chopping up the vegetables, "Since we have now established Sam is not a threat," He said, which caused Klaus to grumble, "Do you have any questions about your new brother?"
Klaus raised an eyebrow at the word 'brother' but didn't comment, knowing when he wouldn't win a fight. Lycaon's expression wasn't up for debate.
He was going to have to be civil to this child. Bloody brilliant.
Releasing a resigned sigh, Klaus voiced a question he'd originally set aside. "Sam could sense what I was. How?"
Lycaon's lips twitched, as if he regretted asking. Klaus straightened slightly, curiosity piqued. "Your scent is very potent."
"To triggered wolves." Klaus corrected. "He shouldn't be able to…" He trailed off, realisation dawning in his eyes. "He's triggered the wolf? But he's… he's just a child."
His father winced. "Not exactly." Klaus gave him a look that urged him to explain. Lycaon drew a hand across his face, rubbing his forehead where a headache was forming. "About a year ago, I was contacted by a pack in South Dakota. Three of their children had gone missing. Taken."
"By what?"
"Witches." Lycaon answered. "Specifically, witches practising Expression."
Recognising the magical term, Lycaon watched as his son put the information together. "They were sacrificing children?"
"There's a lot of power found in those born of innocence, you know that." Lycaon explained. "They'd taken human children too, from all over the state. The problem was, they covered their tracks too well - the pack couldn't find their children even when they turned on the full moon."
Klaus frowned. "So they asked you?"
Lycaon nodded. "I managed to predict when the witches would commit the sacrifice - the blood moon was due to reach its apex in a couple of days. By the time I got there, I was too late, the werewolf children were already dead. But there was one boy alive - a human boy." His father's eyes dropped, voice growing quiet. "He was dying. Hurt. We wouldn't get to a hospital in time."
Klaus straightened, realising what came next. " On a blood moon, a man bitten is a man cursed. " He recited. His gaze locked with Lycaon's. "You bit him?"
Lycaon, eyes downcast, nodded. "My bite can create werewolves on a blood moon, I've told you that before. The bite doesn't always take, it's always a gamble but Sam was strong, I could tell. A fighter. Like you." Klaus avoided his father's gaze, not being able to deal with the fondness in it. "His wounds healed within hours. By the next day he was awake. And by the time the full moon came around, the wolf was free."
Klaus shook his head in disbelief, brows furrowed. "I've never seen one turned so young. How did he even survive the transformation? How old was he for that matter?"
"Seven." Klaus' eyes widened. Lycaon grimaced. "Like I said, the boy's a fighter. By the time he's grown, I suspect his control over the wolf will be far greater than many of the elders."
"What about his family? You said the children were taken."
"He was." Lycaon confirmed. "From a foster home."
His eyes widened, shoulders slumping. "He's an orphan." Klaus realised.
"Yes."
Klaus huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You always did have a thing for strays."
Lycaon grinned, slapping his son on the back before returning to his vegetables. "He'll grow on you too, don't worry, little wolf."
"I very much doubt that." Klaus grunted.
Lycaon smiled, a knowing curve to his lips. "We'll see."
2010, Mystic Falls
Present
The resonating ding of a doorbell echoed throughout the mansion, causing Klaus to flinch slightly at the sound, nearly messing up the landscape he had been painting for the last two hours. So far, his day hadn't gone well at all, what with Stefan declaring he'd stolen his siblings' coffins. The rowdy ratchet from all the construction work occurring on the grounds to make the building hospitable had soured his mood further, not even some of his favourite jazz music loud enough to drown it out. Grumbling, Klaus wet his paintbrush, assuming either the hybrids or the men working on renovating the house would answer the door.
They didn't.
Three more times it rang, making his fingers twitch with irritation. On the fourth, whoever was at the door lost their patience, ringing the doorbell repeatedly, back to back. Klaus cursed as his paintbrush jumped with his hand, the sharp noise cutting through his concentration and thoroughly ruining his work. His face a fierce picture of promise for violence, Klaus snarled, hurling the easel and painting halfway across the room, utterly destroying it. In a flash, he was downstairs, livid with rage.
"I swear, Stefan, if you are behind this door I will rip your heart-" Klaus swung the door open, freezing instantly.
A young man stood on the steps, dark brown hair hanging slightly over his shocked green eyes. A waft of wolf drifted past Klaus' nose.
"Well, I certainly didn't expect that welcome." The man muttered
Klaus gaped, eyes wide. "Sam?"
Sam smiled. "Hello, Nik."
Caroline made her way up the porch steps, pulling her phone out of her back jeans pocket as she unconsciously twirled her keys in the other hand, the metal jingling with each movement she made. Unlocking her phone, she paused on Elena's porch to check her messages, and her face fell slightly at seeing none. Tyler still hadn't contacted her.
Not that she'd expected to, really. Or hoped he would. Last night things certainly hadn't… ended well. She had tried to understand, she really had - god, she still remembered Tyler's screams the first night he turned, remembered the sound of his bones snapping as he transformed. How could she blame him for being overjoyed that he'd never have to endure that again? She couldn't even blame him for feeling grateful to Klaus for taking the pain away by making him a hybrid. She understood that. What she didn't understand was this sire bond thingy that had turned her boyfriend into a dutiful, loyal servant. How was she supposed to trust him? To stand by him? If he was now one of the bad guys? Or was he? God, she didn't even know anymore. And she was still, well not mad, but definitely annoyed he'd stabbed her with vervain. Like that - that was uncalled for.
...Fine, yes, maybe she wouldn't have left if he'd just asked her and maybe he was saving her from her own stubbornness but that's besides the point. It still… it still felt like a betrayal. Which sucked. Everything was such a mess and she had long since lost track of where her life had gone so wrong. She'd blame it on Klaus, she should blame it all on Klaus - but if she was honest with herself her life was a mess long before his stupid ass had rolled into town. He certainly hadn't made her friends keep secrets from her, had he?
Yep. Her life officially sucked. Her boyfriend was sired to a psycho. Her Dad hated her. Her friends were lying to her, or well, at least keeping her out of the loop which she supposed wasn't new but-
Caroline sighed.
Hadn't things been getting better?
Caroline clicked her phone off, shoving it back in her pocket. She had worse things to worry about right now. She'd texted Elena last night, asking what had happened, and the texts she had got back hadn't been encouraging. Apparently they had failed - Klaus was still alive though Mikael was dead (not something she was sad about, that guy had given her the creeps) and Stefan was… well, no one knew where Stefan was. Or what he had been thinking. Last night, Elena had certainly sounded like it was the end, that he was just lost. Too lost for her to find. Caroline really, really hoped he wasn't. Stefan was the only person that had truly got her after she'd first turned, the only person that had been… kind. She hoped he was alright.
In the meantime, they had to do damage control. Secret meeting to sort out a new plan and all that. Throwing on the best smile she could muster, Caroline raised a hand to knock on Elena's front door, freezing when it began to open before her closed fist even rapped against the wood. Within seconds, it had swung open, Damon appearing in the threshold.
Caroline's smile slid off her face.
"Blondie." Damon greeted, leaning on the door and eyeing her up and down. He smirked. Caroline scowled.
"Damon." She bit out through her teeth, forcing herself to smile back.
It only made him smirk wider.
"Come on in." He swept an arm out, stepping aside so she could walk in. Caroline raised her chin up and strode passed him, faintly aware of him closing the door behind her.
"Elena?" She called out, already walking towards the kitchen.
The less time she spent in Damon's company the better.
"In here!"
Caroline followed her friend's voice, emerging into the kitchen. Alaric and Elena stood around the island, what looked like photographs and notes spread out all over the surface. A heavy box full of files was sat to one side, and as Caroline entered, Alaric pulled another file out, flicking through it. When she glanced into the living room, she found Bonnie, Matt and Jeremy sitting on the couches, the boys clearly looking at the something on Jeremy's laptop while Bonnie carefully turned the pages of a heavy, weathered tome - her grandmother's grimoire.
"Hey, Care." Elena greeted as Caroline approached, putting down a pair of photographs.
"Hey." Caroline greeted back. "What's all this?" She asked, moving closer, fingers brushing across the photographs spread out over the island. Centuries old cave drawings stared up at her; post it notes scattered over every other photo that had been translated. The images for werewolf and hybrid had been enlarged and printed, along with one that still hadn't been identified. It looked remarkably similar to the werewolf symbol, but the circle that represented the moon was painted in red, not white, and the teeth were twice the size.
Elena sighed. "Photographs we took down in the Lockwood caves, along with Isobel's files on supernaturals." She explained. "You got my text?"
Caroline nodded, looking over the research. "Yeah, it sounded urgent so I came as soon as I could. What are you looking for?"
"Information on who the hell gate-crashed the party last night." Damon said suddenly from behind her, causing Caroline to flinch. She spun around, but he had already moved on, not sparing her a single glance as he walked around the counter island to stand between Alaric and Elena.
"Gate-crashed?"
"Elena didn't tell you?" Matt asked as he came into the kitchen, opening the fridge to grab a drink.
Caroline turned to Elena, who instantly adopted a wide-eyed expression, looking apologetic.
"Oh I-" She winced. "I'm so sorry Caroline, I must have forgotten to mention that part." She looked down, brushing her hair back behind her ear. "It's been a crazy few days." She said behind a nervous laugh.
Caroline swallowed. "Yeah, I know. It's fine." She flashed her best smile, quickly changing the subject, trying not to think about the choking feeling in her throat. "So what happened?"
"There was this massive werewolf at the party last night. Huge, bigger than a bear. It helped Klaus." Alaric spoke up, pulling something up on his phone before sliding it over the counter towards her.
It was a picture, a not very good one, out of focus and way too dark, but the silhouette of something black and huge was easily distinguishable. The flash of silver, where the eyes of the creature reflected in the light, made the image look all the more supernatural.
"The Black Wolf." Caroline whispered, handing Alaric his phone back.
"You saw it?" Damon demanded.
Caroline glared at him. "Through a window. At the time I wasn't sure if it was a trick of the light. I was on my way to tell Elena when someone stabbed me in the neck with vervain." She turned her gaze on Matt, who was sipping on the drink he had pilfered from the fridge.
He froze.
"Hey, that was Tyler." He said, holding his hands up. "I had nothing to do with that. I just got you out of there."
Caroline held his gaze on him for several tense seconds before she finally sighed, unable to stay mad at him. "I know." She nudged Matt's side with her elbow. "Thanks for looking out for me, I guess."
He smiled back. "Anytime."
"Wait, backtrack - Tyler knocked you out?" Elena questioned, looking between the two.
Caroline made a noise of frustration, holding up a hand to halt any of the questions which were most definitely brewing in Elena's head. "Don't even get me started. I have had enough boyfriend drama for a week." She leaned onto the island, picking at a few of the photographs. "Have you found anything yet?"
"Well, I can't find anything in Grams grimoire." Bonnie announced, entering the kitchen as well. She dropped the grimoire onto the counter, laying it open on a page that depicted a large sketch of wolfsbane, also known as aconite. It was a purple flower, and Caroline could just make out in the notes the roots could be used to poison werewolves. "There's a spell using wolfsbane that protects your house, making it impossible for a werewolf to come in much like a vampire without an invite." Bonnie continued. "But no information on werewolves. Certainly not the one Damon encountered last night."
Caroline frowned. "That's a bit weird. Your Grams knew a lot."
"Not everything, obviously." Bonnie muttered.
"You found anything Jer?" Elena called out.
Jeremy didn't get up, still focused on his laptop. "Just a whole bunch of crap on conspiracy sites." He called back over his shoulder. "There's myths and folktales on werewolves, but how do we tell which ones are real?"
"Nothing on this wolf?" Alaric asked.
"Not yet. A few mentions in some really old texts that people get excited over, but nothing concrete. It's like he's a ghost."
"Are we sure there's anything to find? What if he's just a hybrid?" Matt suggested.
"Or she." Caroline corrected. Everyone looked at her. "What, it could be a she for all we know!" She protested.
Elena took a deep breath. "Well, Damon seems to think he or she might be something more dangerous. Something older."
"Like the Big Bad Wolf that ate Little Red Riding Hood." Damon interjected, grinning. Elena glared at him, rolling her eyes as she shoved his shoulder. He only grinned wider, smiling down at Elena.
Caroline stared, glancing between them both in shock. Since when was Elena… playful with Damon?
How much had she missed?
"Older? What like Klaus?" Bonnie asked.
"The wolf knew Mikael. Or Mikael knew him." Damon explained, gesturing with his hands. "They had a history, and since Papa Mikaelson was a thousand years old and spent the last several decades desiccated in a tomb, I'm leaning towards the theory that wolfie is older than he looks."
"I think I've found something." Alaric announced.
While they had been talking, Caroline hadn't even noticed Alaric looking through the photographs on the counter, head down for most of the conversation. He brought an image to the front of the pile, a photograph that depicted runes that had been carved into the rock.
"What is it?" Elena asked, looking curious. Jeremy got up from where he was sat on the couch, closing his laptop and walking over to stand by his sister.
Alaric frowned. "It's written in runic, not native, like the Original's names were."
"And?" Damon urged, impatient. He leaned over, right by Alaric's shoulder. "What does it say?"
" A man bitten on a blood moon, is a man cursed. "
There was a pause, all of them taking that in. Because-
What.
Then Damon spoke.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Ric?"
"I don't know, Damon. That's just what it says."
"Maybe you translated it wrong." Damon accused, trying to grab the photograph out of Alaric's hand. He pulled it out of reach before Damon could take it, glaring at the vampire.
"Out of the two of us, who has the history degree again?" Alaric pointed out, raising an eyebrow. Damon didn't answer. "That's what I thought."
Damon lunged for the photograph again.
"Just give it here-"
" Damon -"
"This symbol. The one like the werewolf symbol, but with a red moon instead of white." Bonnie pulled the photography in question towards her. "Do you think it's referring to that? Red moon equals blood moon, maybe?" She suggested, trying to make sense of it. Which made one of them, at least.
"Maybe." Elena agreed, also ignoring the men squabbling off to the side.
"But what does it mean 'bitten'?" Caroline asked, thinking out loud. "Werewolf bites only harm vampires and they don't spread the curse like it's implying. Werewolves are born, not bitten."
"Maybe, it's like a power this wolf has?" Matt tried, looking unsure.
Jeremy frowned harder, looking over at Matt. "What, like a different type of werewolf? Can you even get different types of werewolves?"
"You can get different breeds of dog, right?"
Jeremy blinked. "Werewolves aren't dogs."
"Yeah, but-"
Okay, this was just going nowhere.
"Maybe we need to entertain the possibility that we don't know anything." Caroline declared, raising her voice above everybody so she could be heard. Even Alaric and Damon finished their squabbling, turning towards her.
Elena exchanged a glance with Bonnie. "We don't know anything, I think that's the point Care-"
"No, like about werewolves in general." Caroline tried to explain, looking around at everybody. "Hello? Think about it: Damon and Stefan thought they were a myth before we learnt about Tyler's uncle, right? We also thought the Sun and Moon curse was real before Elijah revealed it was all just a lie cooked up by Klaus." Everyone around her exchanged glances, taking Caroline's words in. "Information on werewolves is vague at best. It's like, none of the real stuff was written down."
"Or like it was erased." Matt agreed.
Bonnie nodded. "If the vampires won the feud between them and the werewolves, it makes sense they erased everything."
"Everything written down, maybe." Jeremy looked up, a realisation dawning in his eyes. "But most stories are passed on through word of mouth, right?"
Damon didn't look impressed. "Yeah, so?"
"So? Tyler's is - was - a werewolf. The other hybrids were werewolves too. Maybe they know something."
Elena processed her brother's words and turned to Caroline, eyes hopeful. "Can you call him?"
Suddenly, Caroline was surrounded by several identical stares, imploring for her aid. She bit her lip.
"I don't know, he might not even answer, he's kind of mad at me Elena."
"Please, Caroline." Elena pleaded.
Damn her and her doe eyes.
"Yeah, okay." Caroline sighed, defeated. "I'll call him."
"Thank you."
"You so owe me for this." Caroline muttered under breath, dialling and bringing the phone to her ear. She turned around, walking a few steps away in an attempt at privacy - which was built on totally false pretences, as Damon could listen in on whatever conversation she had.
As the phone rang on the other end, Caroline bit her lip, worried. Would he even answer? They hadn't parted on the best of terms, and somehow she had been turned into the bad guy, even though he was the one sired to Klaus.
Finally, the phone was picked up, and a male voice travelled through the line from the other end. "What?"
"Tyler?" Caroline breathed, hesitant, not quite believing that he was there.
"Yes, what do you want, Caroline?" She heard him snap, tone hostile.
Caroline immediately felt her mood sour, anger sparking up inside her. "You know, you don't have to be rude."
She listened as Tyler released a growl of frustration. "Caroline, I really don't have time for this-"
Panicking, Caroline rushed to make sure he didn't hang up. "No, wait! I'm sorry. I'm sorry about last night and then for being snappy just now."
An uncomfortable silence followed, making Caroline shuffle restlessly where she stood. She heard a sigh from the other end. "Caroline, what do you need?"
She glanced back behind her, catching Elena's eye as the others huddled over photographs and files, searching for an answer. Her friend inclined her head in encouragement. "Damon seems to think the Black Wolf from last night is a threat. Elena wanted me to ask if you knew anything about it." She paused, expecting Tyler to answer her implied question. He didn't. "Do you? When I saw… whatever I saw last night made you worried."
"I thought you were describing a hybrid. Klaus had told me he'd brought in dozens of hybrids for the party, remember? They were never going to win."
Caroline clenched her jaw upon hearing the obvious jab at the argument they had had last night. And the worst part was she couldn't even deny he was right, as her friends wouldn't have won against Klaus and, being stubborn as she was, she would never have left, regardless of the danger-
Caroline took a deep breath. "And now?"
Tyler didn't answer.
"Tyler?" She prompted.
"I don't know. Not for sure."
"Klaus hasn't told you?" She asked, frowning.
"He told us the Wolf was an old friend and not to attack it. That's about it."
"Klaus has friends? " She exclaimed.
Tyler sighed on the other end of the line. "Look, I don't know Caroline. That's just what he said."
"Okay, what about the other hybrids then?" Caroline asked, trying to think. "What did they think?"
"Utter nonsense, mostly."
Caroline's brows knotted together. "What do you mean?"
"Something about a blood moon, I don't know, only the hybrids that came from packs seem to know about him."
"What are they saying?" She asked, receiving no immediate response. Behind her, Damon and the others looked up, watching her and listening for Tyler's response. "Tyler?"
"It's just a myth, Caroline."
"And?" She prompted.
"They say he's immortal. Older than even Klaus, the wolf that started the blood feud between vampires and werewolves." Tyler explained, causing Caroline's expression to scrunch up in obvious confusion.
"But that doesn't make any sense, Mikael started the feud. And werewolves aren't immortal." She reminded him.
Tyler's tone was unquestionable. "According to the legends, this one is."
Klaus watched Sam as he sat down, the young werewolf kicking his feet up onto the table and leaning back into the sofa. The furniture was still covered in the plastic film it had arrived in, which hadn't fazed Sam at all, even if he did sweep his gaze around the freshly decorated room with interest. Klaus strode over to the drinks cabinet as he carefully eyed every movement Sam made, silently taking in how much the other man had changed.
Klaus hadn't seen him in years, he was probably what? 26? 27, now? It only reminded the hybrid of the fragility of mortality, of how fast time passed. A blink of an eye for an immortal like him. It was one of the reasons why he stopped visiting in the first place.
"Drink?" He offered, picking up the crystal decanter of bourbon and pouring two drinks, already knowing Sam's answer.
"Yeah, thanks." The werewolf took the glass when Klaus passed it to him, dropping his feet to the floor and taking a sip as the hybrid sat down opposite.
An awkward silence followed, neither of them knowing how to break it.
They'd been close once - a time Klaus remembered fondly. But they hadn't seen each other in years, and suddenly the ease in which he had often spoken with Sam seemed far away, out of his grasp.
Klaus cleared his throat. "How's Kiera?"
Their fondness for the brazen female vampire had always been something they had in common.
"Kiera?" Sam echoed. His knee began to jump in the air as his foot tapped the floor, and Klaus eyed it, frowning at the clear anxious energy lining Sam's frame. "She's good. We're good." He scratched the back of his head, a nervous tick Klaus recognised. "She opened a new gallery in Paris, actually - she's over there now. Said something about asking you if you'd like to present a few of your pieces, not sure if she mentioned it to you."
Klaus nodded, already thinking of a few paintings he could send her. However, he was quite sure she'd stolen a few already throughout the centuries. Not that she'd ever admit it.
"I'll be sure to make a donation."
Sam nodded in response, an automatic motion, looking down at his hands. Klaus considered him, frowning. No point beating around the bush then - Sam was clearly too distracted for small talk.
"Why are you here, Sam?" He asked. "If you're looking for Lycaon, you missed him by several hours."
Sam rolled his eyes, and suddenly, the confident, fearless boy Klaus had known was back. "I didn't come to see Dad. I came to see you."
Klaus blinked, then frowned harder. "Why?"
"Do I really need a reason to see my big brother?"
Klaus felt his jaw tighten, longing settling in his gut at the familial term.
"Yes, you do." He argued, gesturing with his glass at the young werewolf. "I taught you that."
Sam opened his mouth, closed it, and finally nodded. "Yeah, that's fair."
"So, what exactly do you want?"
Sam eyed him. "The honest answer?"
"Preferably, yes." Klaus glared, bringing his glass to his lips.
Sam hesitated, clearly nervous. Nevertheless, his voice didn't waver, conveying a confidence not many could conjure in Klaus' presence. "I want you to turn me."
Klaus choked on his drink.
He coughed as the alcohol burned his throat, spluttering, his shocked eyes meeting Sam's. The werewolf didn't falter, his expression serious.
"W-What?" Klaus wheezed, coughing again and hitting his chest as he leaned forward to place his glass on the coffee table.
"You're creating hybrids. I want in." Sam said as Klaus leaned back.
"Why?" Klaus exclaimed, gesturing with a hand. His eyes narrowed, tone turning more accusatory. "You told me you'd never become a vampire."
"Because you can't be a wolf and a vampire. Not until now." Sam countered. "If you had turned me earlier, if Keira had - the wolf would die. And I may not have been born with a wolf like you, but the thought of losing it?" Sam swallowed, looking down, face a shade paler than before. "I can't bear it." He whispered.
Klaus felt his own heart clench at the thought. A thousand years, he had spent with his wolf caged and bound, buried deep inside him. An entire half of his soul, just gone. Lost. He hadn't realised how much a part of him it was, even before he triggered the curse, until his wolf was no longer there. Most days the absence was crushing, choking him with despair and such profound grief, he wanted to scream. Other days, it had left him hollow, simply going through the motions, a scar through his soul as deep as a ravine. Giving into the bloodlust of his vampire side, the primal drive to kill, often was the only thing that had kept him sane. It at least soothed the pressure where his wolf clawed at its chains, trying to burst free, providing an avid distraction to the pain.
Pain, that despite his cruelty, Klaus would never wish on anyone. Let alone Sam.
"I never blamed you for leaving, you know." Sam continued, quieter. Klaus let their gazes lock, finding understanding in Sam's eyes. He swallowed. "I get it. I'm a werewolf, not a vampire. I won't live forever. You asked if I wanted to be turned because you couldn't watch me wither and die. Refused to watch the same happen to Kiera because of me, because of the way our souls are now entwined." Sam swept an arm out, voice rising. "So you left. You didn't call and you didn't write and that was fine. I get it."
Despite the logic in his words, Klaus could detect the bitterness seeping into the werewolf's tone, like a cancer.
"You don't sound like you do." He pointed out.
"I get it but that doesn't mean I have to like it, Nik." Sam spat, sending the Original a glare. "Why would I? I finally had a family, a father, a brother, a mate - and then you just walked away because you were too scared of the cost."
For a second, Klaus opened his mouth, a lie or counter-argument on the tip of his tongue, some way to deny the truth in Sam's words. But in the end, he closed it, the denial dying in his throat before he even voiced it. He looked down, unable to meet Sam's accusing gaze. Sam, similarly, could no longer look at Klaus, his jaw clenched and gaze fixed on one of the freshly mounted paintings to their right.
Eventually, it was Klaus who broke the silence with a sigh.
"For what it's worth," He began, swallowing nervously, catching Sam's attention, "Letting you and Kiera go was the hardest thing I've done in centuries."
He looked up, eyes flickering over to meet Sam's. The werewolf's expression softened, staring back, before his lips twitched, huffing a laugh. "Is that your attempt at saying sorry?"
Klaus mock glared at him. "Don't push it."
Sam smiled, looking down into the glass still held in his hand.
"I don't want Kiera to die, you know. Especially because of me." He whispered, glancing up at Klaus. "I've always wondered what it would be like to be like you. I looked up to you as a kid, idolised the life of a vampire. The freedom of it; the ability to live a thousand lifetimes, to go wherever you want, to be whoever and do whatever you want." Sam paused, his voice tinted with awe and wonder - with longing.
And Klaus, in that moment, remembered the boy that had trailed after him in Lycaon's house, pleading with him to do it again, Nik, I want to see! And Klaus would roll his eyes, before obliging, eyes bleeding red as black veins crawled across his cheeks. Every time, Sam would squeal and laugh, whispering so cool before running off, probably to stick his head in those fantasy books he loved to read or worse - those bloody colourful bricks apparently called legos . Klaus was still adamant they were torture devices developed by children. He'd told Sam so once, and he'd just smiled and said You're funny . No sense of seriousness whatsoever, the boy had thought he was joking.
Lycaon had also found it hilarious. Until Sam had started leaving the little bricks in the den, scattered and hidden in the furs decorating the wooden living room floors. Klaus still recalled his father's first cry of agony with particular fondness.
"But if I'm honest with myself," Sam continued on, voice growing stronger now, "I don't want to become a hybrid because of my own desires. I want to become a hybrid because I want to spend an eternity with the woman I love, not just a lifetime." He smiled slowly, regarding Klaus softly. "And if I get to spend an eternity by your side and have the honour to call you family?" Sam's smile grew into a smirk, and he shrugged his shoulders. "I'm sure that won't be too terrible either."
His expression may have been teasing, but Sam's eyes were serious. And suddenly, Klaus realised it was getting harder to swallow, touched by the sentiment.
"You're sure it's what you want?" He asked.
Sam nodded, expression confident, even defiant, in the face of Klaus' doubt. "More sure than anything in my life. She's my whole world, Nik." When Klaus didn't say anything, contemplating his words, Sam continued. "I know you don't believe in it like me and Dad do but-" He sighed, watching as Klaus tensed. "A mate is sacred. Our love for each other more so." Sam leaned forward, trying to impact Klaus with the power in his words. "She's my mate , Nik."
Klaus considered him for a moment, thinking. He still found it hard to believe, the whole concept that wolves had such fansical things such as mates, though unlike what Sam thought, he could admit something was different about supposedly mated pairs.
Klaus had seen mated couples before Sam and Kiera, of course. He remembered the way they looked at each other, like without the other the Sun would cease to rise, equals in all aspects of life; the way the male wolf never harmed his mate on a full moon and vice versa, despite its pull. He'd torn mated werewolves apart over the centuries too - killed them just as mercilessly as he killed the lovers of vampires and humans, yet it was the grief of the werewolves that was too profound, too raw to be normal.
The last time he'd seen Sam, was his and Kiera's wedding, for lack of a better word. They weren't married, not in the traditional way where they had a piece of paper to prove their union, or a dowry exchanged between houses. Werewolves… didn't get married. They didn't believe in it. Not when the bonding of mated souls was far greater and more powerful evidence than any piece of paper.
And Sam certainly didn't call Kiera his wife.
She was his mate.
"There are conditions." Klaus eventually said.
Sam eyed him warily. "You want something in return?"
"I wouldn't be opposed - the doppelganger blood isn't easy to come by, and you'll need it to transition. But no. I'll end up taking something from you anyway."
Sam frowned, shaking his head a little. "I don't understand."
"Every hybrid I have turned has been blessed with a sire bond. They are loyal to me and me alone." A fierce grin broke out across Klaus' face. "Creates quite the army."
"An army of slaves." Sam deadpanned.
"Which you just admitted wanting to be a part of." Klaus countered.
Sam shook his head, rubbing his forehead where a headache was beginning to form - most definitely because of Klaus. "I thought sire bonds are rare? Like once-in-every-hundred-years, rare. They only happen under certain circumstances."
"There are theories to them, yes." Klaus agreed. "I believe the hybrids are grateful to me for taking their pain away every full moon. They feel indebted to me and that is reflected in the sire bond."
"But why would I feel grateful to you? I don't feel pain on a full moon anyway." Sam pointed out, thoroughly confused.
Klaus opened his mouth, closing it almost immediately afterwards when he realised he didn't have a response to that.
Sam hadn't been born a werewolf - he was bitten. Bitten by Lycaon, an alpha werewolf that had spent centuries refining his control over the wolf. His father had taught Sam everything he knew, and as a result (and the combined consequence of turning every full moon since he was a small boy) Sam's control over the wolf was unmatched except for Lycaon himself. Many of the wolves in Lycaon's pack turned without pain, but those were older wolves with decades of experience, the skill taking time to master. Sam was the first to achieve it so young.
While Klaus was processing this sudden epiphany, Sam's eyes widened, lips threatening to curl into a grin. "You hadn't thought of that, had you?"
Klaus hated that Sam was right. Hated it.
"You could still be grateful for your immortality-" He tried, but Sam just laughed.
"I was prepared to live a shorter life before you broke the curse, wasn't I?" Sam leaned forward, dropping his glass on the low table between them. "Sire bonds are rare, Nik. And if I was a gambling man, I bet you a hundred dollars, I won't be sired to you." He pointed a finger at Klaus, looking way too smug for the Original's liking.
He was worse than bloody Kol.
"And what if you're wrong?" Klaus argued, gritting his teeth.
"Then, I guess I will work out a way to break it." Sam raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, are you trying to convince me not to become a hybrid? Because all those years, bragging about the glories of vampirism, of being incessantly annoying about the inferiority of my mortality, and now you choose to develop a conscience?" He eyed Klaus, tilting his head. "Are you possessed? Hexed? Blink twice if you are."
Klaus glared at him. " Sam. "
"Ahah - you blinked! That was a blink." Sam pointed a finger at Klaus' face, grinning from ear to ear. "And that was two blinks! Which is it then, possession or a hex?"
Klaus released a deep, resigned sigh. "You're sure?"
"Yes, I am. Are you sure you've not been hexed because-"
"Fine." Klaus agreed, mostly just to shut Sam up. "I'll turn you." He said, moving to stand. Sam grinned, and Klaus scowled, muttering under his breath as he walked to grab another empty glass. He turned halfway there, pointing back at Sam. "But I want that hundred dollars when you end up unable to ignore my orders."
Sam's grin widened. "We'll see."
Klaus ignored him, biting open his wrist and letting the blood drip into the crystal glass he grabbed from the cabinet. As the red liquid began to fill the glass, Klaus walked back over and arrived in front of Sam, who was still seated. He even began to offer Sam the glass, who leaned forward, eager to take it. But then Klaus paused, pulling his hand back and frowning, suddenly realising something. "Does Lycaon know you're here?"
"...No?" Sam tried, answering like it was a question. Upon seeing Klaus' negative reaction, he quickly corrected himself. "-Yes?"
" Sam- " Klaus began, with the tone he'd used often when reprimanding his younger siblings back when they were children.
" Nik. " Sam mimicked in the same tone. It didn't work, Klaus not only narrowing his eyes further, but also not offering Sam the glass of blood, causing the younger man to scowl. "For god's sake, I'm not eight anymore. Dad doesn't need to know every decision I make in life!" His outburst didn't move Klaus, the hybrid remaining expressionless. Sam huffed. "Not exactly." He finally answered, looking anywhere but at Klaus.
Klaus raised an eyebrow.
Sam sighed, scratching the back of his head. "I may have lied a little. Told him I was collecting some rare supplies for the pack."
"And that worked?"
Sam shrugged. "I'm here, aren't I?"
Klaus didn't look convinced.
Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Look, all you have to do is turn me, Nik. I'll tell Dad about, you know…" Sam made a quick motion with his hand, wincing slightly at the thought of informing Lycaon, "turning into a blood-sucking hybrid. And hey, you two are odds at the minute - see turning me as a fuck you to the old man, how's that?"
Klaus stood in silence for several moments, deliberating. Then he looked away, jaw clenching, before he looked back at Sam, finally offering him the glass.
"Don't make me regret it." He warned, face serious.
Sam's eyes flicked between Klaus's face and the glass, wary. Klaus was nearly about to pull his hand away, the blood with it, believing Sam was having second thoughts, when the werewolf grabbed the glass and drowned the blood in one go, eyes flashing yellow for a split second.
Before long, Sam was wiping the side of his bloodied mouth with his sleeve, dropping the glass on the table. Klaus kneeled down, placing a reassuring hand on the werewolf's shoulder.
"You won't feel a thing until you wake up." Klaus compelled, his pupils dilating.
Then he snapped Sam's neck.